Bleed Into One
by abrynne
Summary: The next number for Team Machine is surprisingly unique in the fact that it already has an expiration date sooner than one would normally expect. And John teaches Sam how to fight... defensively, of course.
1. Old Friends

Just FYI, I had to wrack my brain trying to figure out a title for this one. So, I reserve the right to change it if I find a better one. I doubt I will, but you never know!

I can't believe it, but this is the 9th installment of this PoI series that I am obviously determined to keep writing at least until September 27th. If you're just jumping into this one, you can read it, of course. But there is some back story that would help you appreciate this story a little more, starting with "Dark Horse".

Enjoy!

* * *

Lights reflected off of the gentle waves of her dark hair. She brushed a finger through her long bangs that swept over her forehead as she walked through the club. It was a smaller place, a little elitist, but it's where they were supposed to meet.

Sam held onto her black clutch as she searched the crowd. The dance floor was small. About a half dozen people were on it, gyrating to the heavy bass in the unidentifiable music that was playing. The other occupants of the club were scattered around the place. Some were on the upper level; others were spread out on the furniture, or at the tables. All of them held a drink in their hand, and had one thing on their mind.

She didn't see him.

Sam walked to the upper level, ignoring the looks she received, and stood at the railing that overlooked the main floor of the club. Through the dim lights and spirit scented air, she spotted him at the bar, alone.

As she turned, Sam's path was blocked by a nice looking guy who looked to be in his mid twenties, if that. He was tall, well built, and was looking Sam up and down like a wolf scoping out a rabbit.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asked, shouting over the loud music.

Sam smiled through red lips. The matching red dress she wore was not chosen by accident. It hugged her figure, but not so much that it was uncomfortable, and hit her above the knee. The neckline was low, but left just enough to the imagination. It was a knock out dress, and her feet were already killing her in equally hot shoes. And, to top it off, Sam had done herself up purposefully. She rarely spent so much time on her hair. So, in answer to his question, she had a vague idea at the very least.

Sam's eyes flicked over the railing to John at the bar. He was waiting.

"I'd probably like spending more time in front of the mirror if I thought I knew," she shouted back at him.

He laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, you're too gorgeous for this place that's for sure," he said, pointing with his drink. "And you're funny too. Almost too good to be true."

"Wow, you certainly lay it on thick, don't you?" Sam said, still smiling and keeping an eye on John.

"I don't do it any other way," he said, stepping closer to her and breaking the invisible barrier that strangers usually keep between one another. Sam happened to like that barrier.

A girl joined John at the bar. She sat on the stool next to him, all smiles, and began talking to him.

"I bet you don't. Will you excuse me?"

Sam's feathers bristled. She dodged around the guy and she marched back down the stairs – well, she marched as well as she could in the black stilettos she wore.

John smiled back at the girl, who flirtatiously touched him on the arm, then took her hand away again as she spoke with him. Not very subtle, and quite stupid. She had no _idea_ who she was chatting up. John noticed everything. Flirting was just another screen that he could see right through.

Sam pushed her way through the couples and groups of people to the bar, just as the drink the girl ordered was set down in front of her.

John hadn't seen her. Sam smiled mischievously. Let's see if he notices this.

"Hey babe," Sam said as she reached him. She put her hand on the back of his neck and gave it a gentle turn. As he looked at her she smiled as she leaned in and kissed him hard, making a show for the girl on the stool next to them.

She pulled away, and her eyes snapped to the girl sitting next to John. "I'm sorry, is this seat taken?" Sam asked, indicating the seat that was obviously already occupied.

Sam kept her fingers on John's neck, playing them underneath his collar as she stared the girl down. And she was just that: a girl. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if her pushup was stuffed with cotton underneath that skimpy gold dress.

Looking disappointed, and a little embarrassed, the girl shook her head. "Um, no, it's all yours." She grabbed her purse and got up, leaving her untouched drink on the bar.

John kept his eyes on Sam as she moved around him to the stool. His lips were smeared red with her lipstick and his eyes glinted playfully. "You enjoyed that," he said.

Sam leaned in closer to him again, just in case the girl was still watching. "You're damn right," she said. She put her fingers to his mouth and rubbed the lipstick away. "That little thing was barely eighteen if that, John. You know better."

"She was seventeen," John said. "She and a few friends came in with fake IDs."

Sam studied him. "Oh, right. Finch, the Master of Googling."

John smiled at her joke.

"That just proves one thing though," Sam said, looking sadly out at the crowd.

"What?"

"That we're both too old to be in here."

John considered the thought for a moment and shrugged.

Sam took a sip of the drink the girl had left and squished up her face. "Ugh! Everyone likes to drink candy. Why don't they just serve Yoohoo?"

"You don't need fake IDs for Yoohoo," John said. "But that's not why we're here. Come here," John pulled her off of the stool and moved her close to him, so she was nearly sitting on his lap.

He moved her hair over her shoulder and Sam lowered her head. "The man up on the second level, far right," John muttered in her ear.

Sam's eyes looked up and to the right as the rest of her held position against John. She scanned over the people at the railing and saw a thin man, roughly about her age, with thick brown hair. He was smiling and talking with a young girl, probably early twenties.

"See him?" John asked.

"Skinny, wearing a three piece suit, lots of hair?"

"That's the one."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Andrew Benton. He's a serial stalker and rapist."

Sam pulled away from John and stared at him, shocked. "So, um, do you want to shoot him, or are you waiting for me to do it?"

John smiled again, and brushed his fingers through her hair. "We crossed paths last year. I stopped the sister of one of his victims from killing him and dissolving the body in acid."

Sam grimaced. "Why did you stop her?"

"Because she wasn't a killer, Sam."

"So you just let him go?"

"No, I gave him the chance to convince me to let him live," John explained.

Sam scoffed. "That must have been a hysterical conversation. So he convinced you?"

"No, but you know that I don't kill unarmed people."

"Even if they're serial rapists."

"I warned him that I would be watching him. And if he ever tried anything again, I would kill him."

"Looks like he didn't believe you," Sam nodded up at Benton who was still talking with that unsuspecting girl. "Why hasn't he been caught before?"

"The charges always end up being dropped. Nothing has stuck."

"What's the plan?"

John pulled her close to him again and she felt his warm breath on her ear as he spoke. "The woman he's talking to is Sandra Callist. She's twenty-four, works as an assistant manager at a credit union. He started stalking her three days ago."

"Her number came up?" Sam asked.

"Yes. There are no other threats against her. Benton has decided to start up again."

"What are you going to do?"

"_We_ are going to lure him away from her first. And then I'll give him a little reminder of our agreement."

"Hold it Mr. Smooth McGee," Sam said, pushing his hands off of her. "You want me to _attract_ a serial rapist on purpose?"

"It shouldn't be hard, Sam. You look lovely."

"Thank you. Are you crazy?"

"I'll be close by the entire time. All I need is for you to agree to leave the club with him. I'll take care of the rest."

John stood. "They're heading down here. Now's your chance."

"Wait, John, how am I supposed to - ?"

"I need to borrow this," John said, sliding her black clutch off of the bar. He took it with him as he brushed past Sam and into the crowd.

Sam saw Benton talking to Sandra as they walked down the stairs. John had vanished with her purse. She was stuck. Sam looked at the drink still sitting on the bar. She took it and headed through the crowd.

Timing it just right, she reached the staircase just as Benton and Sandra stepped onto the landing. Sam turned and smacked right into Sandra, spilling the awful drink all over Sandra's pink dress.

"Oh! I am so sorry!" Sam said, frazzled. She set the now empty glass down. "I'm so, so sorry. Here, let me get you some napkins."

"No, that's okay, really," Sandra said as the drink dripped down her front. "I'll just go to the restroom. Will you wait for me?" she asked Benton.

"Sure, I'll be at the bar," he smiled. Sam then understood his appeal. He wasn't exactly fantastic looking, but he had a certain charm that definitely worked.

"I'm really sorry!" Sam called after her as she walked through the crowd to the ladies room.

There, Stage One was achieved. She'd gotten Sandra away from him. Now, for the hard part. Sam waited for a few minutes before she grabbed a seat that happened to be right next to Benton at the bar.

She ordered a drink and pretended not to notice him at first. She crossed her legs, hitching up her skirt in the process, and looked around the club as her drink was being made.

Benton was already looking at her by the time she noticed him. "Oh, it's you! I'm really sorry about before," she said sincerely.

"It's no problem," he smiled. "I doubt there was any permanent damage."

"I'm not so sure," Sam said sadly. "I went into the bathroom to see if I could help her, and she wasn't there. I think she might have left."

Surprised, Benton lifted his eyebrows, but did not take his eyes away from Sam for a second. She already had him. "That's disappointing," he sighed.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date."

"It wasn't a date." The smile was back. "I just met her in here."

"Oh, well, at least I didn't screw up anything that went on longer than forty five minutes. I'm such a klutz."

"A very pretty one, though," Benton said. "I think that one overshadows the other."

"Thank you."

Sam cleared her throat and tried keeping her nerves buried. She was sitting next to and talking with a serial rapist. John had better be close.

"I'm Andrew," Benton said, holding out his hand.

"Samantha. People call me Sam," she smiled and shook his hand. Touching. She was touching a filthy serial rapist!

"Nice to meet you, Sam. Are you here alone?"

"I hoped not for long. But if I keep spilling drinks on people, that might stay permanent."

Benton laughed as he got off of his stool and stood closer to her. Sam stiffened, but tried to keep a smile on her face. "You can spill a drink on me any time you want," he said seriously. "I'd take it gratefully."

"That's very sweet, Andrew," Sam said.

He brushed his finger casually over her bare knee. "Do you want to get out of here? Maybe find a quieter place where we can talk?"

"I'd love to," Sam stood up and was so close to Benton that his face went out of focus.

He didn't move away as he lifted his hand to her face and kissed her softly on the lips. Sam held her scream back in her throat. Normally this would be fast and charming as he intended, but knowing the truth about him ruined the effect. Sam wanted to run away, find John, and hide behind him.

"You handled that pretty well, without an incident," he joked. His hand slid down her neck, then to her arm. He took her hand and pulled her away from the bar.

They left the club together, hand in hand, and walked down the sidewalk under the streetlights. It was late. The streets were sparse of people. Where was John?

"So, I know this nice little place just a couple of blocks away – "

"It's still open at this time?" Sam asked.

Benton smiled. "It opens whenever I want."

Sam shivered. "Oh, you mean your place?"

"If that's what you're thinking, that's fine with me," Benton said.

Sam laughed and wished she had her gun. The small snub nose she brought with her was in the clutch that John had 'borrowed'. Where the hell was he?

"What's the matter?" Benton asked with concern.

Sam thought quickly. "Oh, I – uh – I've just never done this before, gone home with a man I just met."

Benton stopped her. He smiled as he pulled her close and was about to kiss her again.

"Excuse me! Miss?"

Sam gratefully broke away from him and looked down the street toward the club. Someone was running towards them. Benton took her hand, as though he was staking claim.

"Miss, I think you dropped this," John approached Sam and handed the clutch to her.

"Oh jeez, thank you! That was very nice of you," Sam said grateful that he finally showed up. She fought the urge to punch him in the arm and demand where he'd been the entire time.

"No problem," John slowly lifted his eyes and looked at Benton.

Andrew Benton stopped breathing for a moment and dropped Sam's hand, his now frightened eyes frozen onto John's face.

"Andrew? Is everything all right?" Sam asked as John walked towards the retreating Benton.

"I warned you, didn't I, Andrew?" John said darkly.

"I didn't do anything!" Benton said. "I wasn't – "

"Yes, you were." John reached out and grabbed Benton by the collar and slammed him against the side of a building along the street. He pinned him against the building and put his face close to his.

"What did I tell you I would do if I caught you trying anything again?" John asked him softly.

"I – I – "

"Try to remember, Andrew," John said patiently.

"You said you'd kill me," Benton choked, tears streaming down his face.

"I have better things to do than chase you around." John took his gun out from the back of his pants and pressed it against Benton's throat.

Benton let out a wail and cried some more. "I haven't done anything. I won't do anything, I promise! You don't have to chase me anymore."

"You're right, I don't," John said as he cocked the weapon.

"John," Sam said behind him. A strange sound made her look at their feet. A thin line of liquid was trickling out of Benton's pant leg onto the pavement. Even Sam was beginning to feel sorry for him now. "John, you've made your point."

"I don't think I have yet, Sam," John pushed Benton further into the wall. "This guy never seems to learn."

"I do! I can! I can get help, I can stop," Benton bellowed.

"The evidence is against you on that one," John muttered.

He pulled the trigger.

The empty weapon clicked and Benton screamed as Sam flinched. Once he realized that his head had not in fact been blown off, Benton breathed out of relief and actually let out a short laugh until he saw John's eyes again.

"The chamber was empty. Do you want to bet that it's empty a second time?" John's voice remained quiet, steady, and scary as hell.

"No! I don't. Please, I promise, you don't have to watch me. I've already changed."

"I don't believe you," John said. "But even I don't have the heart to kill a man after he's wet himself."

John let him go and Benton slumped down to the ground, his entire body shaking.

"I'll make sure there's one in the chamber the next time you screw up, Benton. Leave Sandra Callist alone, or I will find you and keep my word," John said as he took Sam by the hand and walked away.

Sam looked up at him, watching the hardened, stone-like features melt away into the normal, every day John that she knew. She smiled. "You enjoyed that," she said.

"You're damn right," he replied without looking at her.

"Do you think he'll do it again?"

"Not for a few months at least."

"So you're going to keep scaring him over and over again?"

"No, but it'll work for now."


	2. Defense

It had been a few weeks since Sam's return to the job. All of it had come full circle for her. At first, almost a year ago, she had jumped into it without thinking. And then, soon after, she left, still without thinking. When she came back to John and Harold and what they did, she hesitated. But, there was no other life she wanted. Bottom line.

Sam unlocked the door and pushed her way through, carrying a bag of groceries, and a department store shopping bag. She flung her keys on the stand next to the door and stepped into her apartment.

"Hey, Sam," John said, as he walked across the room.

Sam nearly dropped her shopping. "John! What did I tell you about breaking into my apartment?"

"You said to stop doing it," John said. He unbuttoned his sleeves and began rolling them up to his elbows. "And what did I say to you in response to that?"

Sam sighed as she walked to the kitchen. "You said that you needed to keep up your skills. I'll start switching locks then, to give you a little more variety."

She set the shopping down on the kitchen counter and began putting things away.

"Do you know what happened to Benton?"

John stood up and looked at her. "He went home that night, and started counseling again."

"Again?"

"The reason he never tried anything for about a year was because he was getting help, gaining some control."

"And because you threatened him."

John nodded once. "He was doing fine. But then his counseling went down from three times a week to two, then to one. He stopped going to meetings, and went back into some old habits."

Sam finished putting her groceries away and stepped out of the kitchen. "You really were watching him."

"I never break my word,"

Sam walked into the main part of the apartment where John stood. A large blue mat covered most of the hardwood floor. John, along with the usual button down shirt, was wearing slacks, but no shoes or socks. He stepped onto the mat in his bare feet.

"Is there another number?" Sam stepped onto the mat wearing her heeled boots.

"Not yet," John pulled out a nine millimeter.

"Then what's going on?"

"I thought about what you asked before."

"What I asked?"

"If I would teach you to fight."

"John, I was… partially kidding."

"Well, I'm not," John smiled a little. "What happened with you and Powell a few weeks ago got me thinking about it again."

The Powell's numbers had come up. But, they had not been the victims as John, Finch, and Sam originally thought. That ended up costing Sam with a bit of a concussion to say the least. Sam snorted. "Even if I knew everything you knew about fighting hand to hand, I would not have been able to take down that six foot nine defensive lineman."

"Probably not." John agreed. "But you might have been able to hold your own long enough to get away. And that's what this is for." John became suddenly stern with her.

"Why didn't you tell me? I'm not even dressed for this."

John looked her over. She wore black pants, heeled boots, and a comfortable top with no buttons. "What you have on is fine. Except the boots. Take those off."

Sam sighed and sat on the couch as she unzipped her boots.

"This is just for defense, Sam. Got it? Just so you can handle yourself a little better if I'm not with you."

"And so I've got your back, right?" Sam stepped onto the mat in her bare feet and John stood opposite her.

"For defense, Sam."

"Fine."

John ejected the magazine out of the gun and pointed it at Sam with both hands, in his usual stance. "Okay, now, try to disarm me."

Sam burst out laughing. "Are you kidding?" She looked at him and he didn't move. "Oh, wow, you're not kidding."

"I want to see what your instincts are."

"I would have worn a short skirt if I knew I was supposed to try and take things away from you," Sam grinned.

"Come on, Sam."

"All right, okay." She looked at him for a minute. "There is no way I can get that away from you."

"Just try it," John said testily.

Sam approached him, the empty weapon pointing at her head. She tried to remember how John disarmed people. She'd seen him do it a few times, but how he did it was another matter entirely.

She shrugged and grabbed a hold of the gun, pushing it to the side and down as she turned and elbowed him in the ribs. John's arm came around her and Sam yelled as he tripped her up, and she landed on the mat with the barrel of the gun on her forehead.

"You panicked," he said.

"Of course I did! You grabbed me! And in case you haven't noticed, I don't know what I'm doing," Sam said angrily.

"Lesson Number One: Don't panic. Fear just slows you down and gets you killed."

Sam rolled her eyes as John helped her back up and handed her the gun. "You started out pretty good, Sam. Point it at me."

Sam held the gun up in both hands. John grabbed a hold of it as she had, but instead of pushing it to the side, he pushed her arms up, and moved slowly as he explained. "That gives you a wide open target." He moved her arms down and pushed them to the side. "If you move it to the side, you risk someone else being shot. If you move it down," he pushed her arms down, "you risk getting shot in the foot." He pushed her arms up again. "Keep low, and take out the legs, or force them back." He demonstrated by placing his foot right behind Sam's, then placing his open palm at her chin. "Take them down, get them to drop the weapon."

"I thought this was just defense, John," Sam said as he took the gun and she situated herself again.

"It's like you said before. You won't always have your gun."

"So I can get someone else's?"

"You're already learning. Try it again."

Sam approached him again, the empty weapon pointed at her head. She grabbed the gun, pushed it up and slid her leg in between John's, catching her foot on his heel. He stumbled back, but kept a hold of the weapon. Sam came at him again, pushing her palm to his chin, not as hard as she could, but with enough force to knock him back.

"Good, that was good," John said, backing away and lowering his hands.

"You didn't fall or drop the gun or anything," Sam complained.

"I usually don't," John said, then looked as if he regretted saying it judging by the expression on Sam's face.

"Oh, I see. That's the challenge, is it? I can disarm a normal person with this stuff, but not you, is that what you're saying?"

"Don't take in personally."

"I'm not. But I bet I can get you to drop your gun." Sam walked up to him, breaking the comfort barrier and looked up at him.

"It wasn't a challenge, Sam," John rolled his eyes.

"I know, but I bet I can do it."

"Try it, then."

Sam tried a few more times. She even attempted a tickling attack, which he deflected with a powerful vengeance. Each time Sam ended up on her back on the mat with John hovering above her, telling her how good she was doing.

After the fourth time, John helped her up and Sam shook his hand away. "This is stupid. Why would I even try to get that close to someone pointing a gun at me? And what if neither of us has a gun?"

"You don't try to get close, Sam. You already are close," John reasoned. "But let's try something else."

"Oh no."

"If someone grabs you from behind, what do you do?"

"I scream, kick and bite if I can," Sam said without a thought.

John seemed to seriously consider this for a moment. "Fine, but let's give you a little more of a guarantee." He approached her, took her by her shoulders and turned her around so her back was to him.

The next thing Sam knew, her arms were pinned to her sides in John's grip. The immediate reaction was panic and she let out a shriek before he stopped her.

"Sam!" he said sharply in her ear. "Take a breath and think. What part of you can you move right now?"

"My legs?"

"Right. Use them – _not_ for kicking in the air."

Sam looked down and set her foot on the instep of John's, just to demonstrate.

"Good," he said encouragingly. "Hit the foot, then what?"

"Well, if he gives way at all I can…" John loosened his rip around her and she lifted her arm, jabbing her elbow into his chest.

"Then what?"

"I don't know," she shrugged and looked over her shoulder at him. "Why do I have to keep telling you that I've never done this before?"

"You turn, elbow to the chest, use your momentum for one more thing, Sam."

Sam thought hard on what she'd do next. Foot, elbow to the ribs, then, Sam turned around and thrust her palm up to his face.

"And you say you've never done this before," John smiled and stepped away. "Now, frontal assault."

"What assault?" Sam squeaked as John came at her.

* * *

The training continued for another couple of hours. Sam never succeeded in disarming John. But, as he said, that wasn't the point. Over the time that day, she became faster, and a little more precise, knowing where John was and how he was positioned, so her blows were more accurate. It was impressive. But Sam only credited it to having wrestled with her younger brother when they were kids.

Harold Finch, sat at the desk in HQ, reading a report on one of the monitors as John entered.

"Good morning, Finch," he greeted him casually.

"How is the training going?" Finch asked.

"It's only been a couple of days, but she's quick," John said.

"High praise, I'd say." Finch glanced at him, then back at the monitors. "We have a new number. And it is very… curious."

John approached the desk, his interest piqued. "They're all a little mysterious, Finch."

"Yes, Mr. Reese. As what normally happens when a crime is planned. However, this one goes a little deeper than mysterious, at least to me. In fact, I find it baffling."

John raised his eyebrows. "You, Finch? Baffled?"

"I know it is a rarity that you should cherish while it's around. But I believe that you will be equally as baffled by this one, Mr. Reese."

* * *

Harold Finch moved at a quick pace down the corridor of the hospital. Mr. Reese had gone to find Miss Watts, who was not answering her phone for whatever reason. With Mr. Reese occupied, Finch had decided to at least locate the position of the new number.

Her name was Callie Horace. She was ten years old.

Finch passed into the Oncology wing and slowed his uneven steps on the linoleum floor. Carts and racks rattled past him. Nurses squeaked by in their sneakers without giving him a second glance.

He adjusted the stethoscope around his neck, and pulled at the long white coat he wore over his shirt and tie.

Finch passed the patient rooms, looking at the number of each one, and kept moving until he reached the isolation section of the floor. A group of four hospital rooms sat at the end of the corridor, each with airtight seals on the doors, and thick, glass paneled windows. Inside each room was a small chamber equipped with sterile bio-suits for the doctors and nurses to change into.

Three of the rooms were empty. Finch approached the window of the only occupied isolation room and looked through the glass at the small figure on the bed. Callie Horace had so many machines hooked up to her, she looked more like an experiment by Doctor Frankenstein than a cancer patient. She was frail, with no hair on her head, and tubes coming from everywhere. At the moment, she was asleep.

Her chart was posted on the outside of the room. Finch took a closer look at it, reading each line carefully.

"Infratentorial Glioma," he muttered slowly, sounding out the words.

"From the glial cells."

Finch started at the woman's voice and looked to his right. She stood next to him, looking through the glass at Callie Horace.

"I'm sorry?" he asked her.

"I Googled it when we first heard the diagnosis. The tumor originates from the glial cells," she said without looking at him. "But, you should already know that, Doctor …?"

"Wren. Dr. Harold Wren, Mrs. Horace?" he took a guess.

"Yes," Callie's mother looked at him and smiled. There was a silent, deep sadness in her smile. "Are you here for Callie?"

"Yes," Finch glanced at the chart. "Dr. Welling wanted to check on her."

"There's not much to check on right now. She's been asleep all day because of the pain medication they've given her."

Finch looked at the chart again. "She's in isolation because of the chemo treatments?"

"It's wreaked havoc on her immune system. But, they said that it won't take much off of the year she has left as long as she doesn't contract anything." Mrs. Horace explained.

Finch felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. Callie Horace was dying. She had a year at most. He stared at the mother, overflowing with sympathy. She appeared quite solid when she stood in front of him there. A strong woman.

"Are you working with Dr. Welling now?" Mrs. Horace brought him back from his conclusions.

"Temporarily," Finch nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to keep on my rounds."

"Of course," Mrs. Horace remained at the window as an increasingly befuddled Finch moved away.

Who in the world would want to hurt a sick little girl who had already been given a death sentence?

No answer came to him.


	3. Smashed

Rather than breaking and entering, John knocked on the door first, then tried the doorknob. Sam's apartment was open. He came in just in time to see her leap off of the couch.

His eyes widened in surprise. The wedding dress Sam wore rustled as she moved unsteadily off of the couch and across the floor toward him. It was floor length, with long sleeves, and parts of the fabric looked slightly yellowed with age. The veil was attached to a circlet of dried flowers that sat on her head. Sam brushed the veil out of her eyes when she approached him. "Oh, hey John," she said, her eyes glazed and her speech slurred. She patted him on the chest as she spoke. "Hang on a second, will you? I have to answer the door."

John watched, bewildered, as she went to the door and opened it.

"Hello?" she yelled through the doorway.

He left her there for the moment and moved to the couch where she had been sitting. Boxes were strewn all over the apartment. Most of them opened and rummaged through. On the couch sat a couple more boxes, spilling over with packing worms and crumpled up newspapers. Next to the boxes was a stack of photo albums. One sat open on the coffee table. John picked it up. Each page was filled of old pictures of Sam's family. The album John held must have been put together even before Sam was born. The pictures were yellowed and faded, and were of a young, happy looking couple just starting out.

"No one was there!" Sam yelled and slammed the door. "Freaking, whippersnapper teenagers!"

John lifted his eyes to the coffee table again. A bottle of red wine sat open next to an empty wine glass. Another bottle of what looked like bourbon sat next to those. John picked up the wine bottle. It was empty.

"Hey, John. I'm glad you're here. You have to see some of these," Sam staggered over to him, tripping on the hem of the dress twice, and took her place on the couch next to the boxes and albums.

"Is this all of your parents' stuff, Sam?" John asked.

"Yes, indeed, my good man," Sam said, and snorted with laughter. "Indeeeed," she said. "That's such a funny word, isn't it?"

"When you say it like that it is."

"Yeah it is," Sam agreed and took a swig from the bottle of bourbon. "Do you want a drink?"

"I've been trying to call you," John said seriously.

"You have?" Sam's dark eyes immediately moistened and she put her hand to her chest. "That is so sweet."

"Why didn't you answer?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember," Sam said, getting sluggishly to her feet again. "I tried to silence the damn thing. But, I couldn't figure out how to do that, so I threw it in the toilet. And that totally worked!" she poked him in the chest and snorted again. "Toilet. That's _such_ a funny word, right? Possibly because it's associated with - well, you know," she waved her hand in the air as she sat back down. "Associated is good too. It has the word 'ass' in it." She squeaked and laughed some more.

John sighed. "What are you doing with all of these boxes?" He sat down on the coffee table in front of her, blocking the bourbon.

"I took them out of storage cause I wanted to see what was in them. I never looked through them before. I found _so much_ stuff, John! Like this!" Sam stood up once more and twirled around for him, showing off the dress. She tripped again and waited to steady herself before she sat down. "This is my Mom's wedding dress. I can't believe it fits me. She was so freaking skinny when she got married!" She stroked the fabric of the skirt and her eyes fell on the open album next to John. She seized it as if it suddenly surprised her with its presence. "Look, John, look at these," she cleared off the couch by pushing the boxes onto the floor, spilling packing material everywhere.

John sat next to Sam and she flopped the album in his lap. "That's my Dad, James. And my Mom, Tabitha." She pointed at the man and the woman in each of the photos. "You never met them, but they would have loved you _so_ much! Dad loved anybody who could shoot a gun.

"This one was taken after they met, but before they were married. I think Mom told me that was the weekend Dad proposed to her actually," Sam looked thoughtfully at the picture and went silent for a moment. She grabbed the bourbon, took another drink, and held the bottle in her lap.

"Sam," John said, sliding the album off of his lap and onto the coffee table. He turned to her. "It's been a year, hasn't it?" Frankly, he didn't remember the exact date. He knew it was close, but people were killed around him all the time. These people though, were different. A year ago, Sam's parents and her brother, Scott, were killed, murdered. That was the day her life, her world, turned inside out and upside down.

Sam's eyes were red, no doubt from a combination of crying and drinking. She looked at him with those sad eyes. "A year – yeah, yep. It was a year ago today." She nodded slowly.

Sam grabbed another album and opened it up at a random page. She laughed loudly. "That's Scottie when he was a Webelo," she pointed at a picture of a little boy in a scouting uniform. "Wow, that's an awful name for a cub scout. I was in girl scouts. We had normal names. I was a Brownie," she ticked it off on her finger, "and then I was…" Sam stared at nothing for a moment. "What comes after that? I don't remember. Maybe I'll Google it later."

John couldn't think of anything else to say to her. There was nothing that would comfort her because she'd already tried to numb it with alcohol. But that only made it worse, making her more vulnerable to every emotion that popped into her head. And the photo albums weren't helping.

"Scottie was probably eleven, I think," Sam said slowly, running her fingers over the photographs. "If he was eleven I was… I was fifteen maybe."

She took another drink and rested the bottle in her lap. "Fifteen?" she said, puzzled. "I was a freshman in high school… or almost a slothmore. A sloth – a solf – "

"A sophomore," John said helpfully.

"Yes," she pointed at him. "That's exactly it." She stood up again, carrying the bottle of bourbon with her. "John – John – Hey, John, did you know that I was never asked to prom?"

John stood with her, keeping close in case she fell down. "No, you never told me."

"Well, I didn't!" Sam swatted at his arm but missed and swung herself around one hundred and eighty degrees. She would have gone further if John hadn't stopped her. "No one ever asked me to the prom, even when I was a senior. That's when we're supposed to be a little more stable, and when I finally figured out how to do my hair. But nobody asked me."

"So you didn't go?"

Sam swung the bourbon bottle around with one hand and lifted up the skirt of the wedding dress with the other. "I did go. I went with some girlfriends. We had our pictures taken and everything, too. Lots of fun. But you know, John, I wish – I wish – I mean – it would have been cool if you were around there then. I could have asked _you_ to go with me. Everyone would have been freaking impressed. But that's every girl's fantasy, you know – bringing a handsome stranger to the prom for the other girls to gawk at. Gawk." Sam grinned. "Gawk! Gawk! Gawk!" she continued with her impression of a drunken chicken.

"Prom is meant more for the girls anyway, I think," John said, putting his hand over Sam's mouth.

"Yep," she said as soon as he removed his hand. "All about the dresses and shoes and hair." Sam gestured with the hand that held the bottle of bourbon. "My dress was burgundy."

John caught the bottle, but she wouldn't release it. "You're going to get this dress dirty, Sam."

Sam looked down and slipped the bottle away from him. "Don't go anywhere, I be right back."

It was a studio apartment. John watched as Sam wandered over to the dresser, sitting the bottle down next to her bed, and looked for some pants. Once she found the clothes, she gyrated a bit, trying to reach the buttons on the back of the dress. John watched her spin completely around once. Then, she fell over.

She started laughing as John walked over to help her up.

"I – woo!" she slipped out of his grip and began to fall until he caught her again. "I think I need some help, John. Some John help," she snorted. "It's the best kind of help!"

"Turn around," John turned his finger in the air, and Sam obeyed.

John brushed her hair over her shoulder, and started on the buttons. There were dozens of them sewn tightly together down the center of the back of the dress. Each one took him at least thirty seconds to undo. He wondered fleetingly at how fast Sam's Dad was able to undo them on his wedding night.

"That's good, that's good," Sam stepped away from him once he got halfway down. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves and wriggled as she pushed the dress down over her hips and onto the floor.

Sam stepped out of the dress, picked it up, and gently set it on the bed. She still wore the veil and a knee length slip as she searched around for her pants. She found them after about a minute and pulled them on underneath her slip.

Once she was half dressed, Sam made for the bourbon again, taking another swig.

"Give me the bottle, Sam," John said, holding out his hand. "Come on, you've had enough."

Sam backed away from him, holding the bottle out behind her. "According to _some_ people. I'm a grown up, John. I can drink as much as I want, with or without your help! I thank you very much!"

John took the veil off of her head and set it next to the dress on the bed. "Come on, Sam. Give it to me."

Sam scowled at him. "Candy never hurt anybody, Mr. Party Pooper. This is just like candy." She sidestepped him and walked back into the main part of the room, stepping onto the blue mat in the middle of the floor.

"Oh, I know, I know," Sam said. "I know what lets do," she scampered back over to John and took his hand, leading him onto the mat next to her. "You want the bottle?"

"I want to get it away from you, yes," John said patiently.

"Okay, then, take it," she held it out with both hands gripping the neck. "Take it from me, John. Let's see what you got!" She laughed sloppily. "Don't worry, I won't shoot you with it."

Sam stood, swaying slightly, wearing a slip and a pair of jeans, holding out a half empty bottle of bourbon. If John was a cruel person, he would have taken a picture and shown it to her once she was sober.

"This is hardly fair," John said, standing in front of her.

"Don't worry, you'll be gentle with me," Sam said.

John approached her, snatched at the bottle, and took her down in two moves. Sam landed on her back. John pinned her to the floor, the bottle in his other hand.

"Ow!" Sam said, grabbing the back of her head just before she burst out laughing.

She calmed down after a minute and grabbed a hold of John's hand that pinned her down. She began fiddling with his fingers, and pressed the back of his hand against her cheek.

"Mom said that it went well with my skin."

John settled down next to her. "What did?"

"Burgundy."

Sam's eyes moved dreamily over him and up to the ceiling. So far, the pain was numbed, but it wouldn't stay that way. It never stayed numb for ever. How hard had he tried to keep the pain at bay with a bottle of something constantly at his side? And yet he still felt it. Every day.

Sam still held his hand in both of hers, absently toying with it as her eyes wandered around the room. And suddenly, without warning, she began to sob.

Sam released John and cupped her hands over her face as she wept. The tears came fast, and began dripping off of her face and pooling onto the mat. Sam's breaths were sharp and labored, but she gave no sign of trying to calm down. She just cried and turned onto her side, facing away from him.

There was a tightness in his chest that he couldn't explain when he watched Sam dissolve in front of him. It spread through the rest of him as he watched her turn away, and cry harder.

John slid his hand underneath her and lifted her up until she sat in front of him. The tears still came, dropping into her lap, staining the slip. He pulled her close until she was in his arms, trembling and sobbing.

"She's gone, John," Sam said into his neck. She held onto him tightly as if he somehow kept her from falling further into despair. "I'll never see any of them again. They're just _gone!_ How can they be gone?"

John held her tightly and hushed her. "All of those questions will never be answered, Sam. You can't try to find the answers because there aren't any."

Sam pushed away from him until she saw his face. Her eyes were red and puffy and her cheeks stained. She was so vulnerable, which was why he couldn't believe the pull he felt towards her in that short, short moment.

Seeing her eyes so close, the droplets suspended on her eyelashes, and the freckles on her nose; he wanted them all. He wanted to pull her close, feel her lips, and hold her until dawn the next day.

If only that were possible. But, he knew that could never be, not for him. It didn't matter what he wanted, he didn't deserve such warmth.

She felt the same pull, it seemed. She came close and, because of the abundance of alcohol in her system, missed his mouth by a few centimeters, giving him a wet kiss on the cheek. Then, it was gone. As sudden as it was, time returned to its normal pace. Sam rested her head upon his shoulder, her breath moving steadily off and on his neck as he held her.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Will you let me keep you? Just for a little while. You can keep me too, if you want."

That had to be more of the booze talking. She'd never say that sober. "I will, Sam."


	4. Isolation

The elevator doors opened, and Sam, who was leaning against the side wall of the lift, stood up straight and staggered out into the corridor. Even through her sunglasses, the fluorescent lights overhead were blinding, especially after coming in from the darkness outside.

Urges to puke came and went about every two minutes. So far, Sam was dominant over those. She kept her eyes on her feet as she walked, in a swerving line down the corridor, passing into the oncology wing.

Her head ached dully, and her mouth was dry. She'd brushed her teeth twice and used mouthwash, but that still did not counteract the feeling that she had sweaters on all of her teeth. But, she was dealing with that happily. Everything seemed miraculous after the fact that it had taken her about fifteen minutes to physically pry her eyelids open.

John hadn't been there when she woke up. But he was there when she went to sleep, she was approximately eighty nine percent sure of it. That was a pretty good percentage, given the amount that she drank, which she would never do again by the way.

Sam made it to the end of the corridor without incident.

"Oh my," Finch's voice reverberated off of the inside of her skull. Sam winced as she squinted at him through her sunglasses.

"Are you feeling all right?" he asked as he took her by the arm and led her to a chair along the wall.

"I'm fine, just stop being so loud, Harold," Sam choked out. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"We understood," Finch seemed to look through her for a second. "However, the next time you decide on going on a nearly suicidal binge, I would like some forewarning."

"You got it," Sam agreed. "And there won't be anymore binging, I promise."

Her head spun and her stomach went with it. She groaned and gripped the arms of the chair until the woozy feeling subsided.

Something cold rested on her hand. Harold had placed a fresh ice pack there.

"Thanks," Sam said and put it on her forehead. It didn't relieve all of the symptoms, but it dulled them enough that she could look away from the floor without feeling like spewing.

"So, John's note said that you'd give me the details?" Sam still found herself squinting at him, but her head wasn't throbbing, which was a plus.

"Yes. Callie Horace is our new number. She is a patient here. Do you feel well enough to stand?"

"Yeah."

Finch offered her his hand and she pulled herself up, holding onto him for support. They walked across the width of the corridor to a thick, glass wall. The blinds were partially closed on the other side of the glass, but Sam looked into the room and saw a child lying on the hospital bed.

She was hooked up to about half a dozen machines, and was awake. Her eyes looked large and round in her frail face, they looked around the room aimlessly. She wore a standard hospital gown, and a pink, knitted cap on her head.

"This is Callie Horace. She's ten years old and has a brain tumor."

Sam nearly toppled over, feeling as though her breath had been taken from her with Finch's words. She stepped closer to the glass for a better look while also gaining Callie's attention.

"Will she be okay?"

"She has a year, roughly," Finch said.

Callie lifted up her hand, which was covered in tape that attached tubes and wires to her body, and waved at Sam. Sam smiled and waved back.

"Her mother was just here. She stays here most nights to be close to her daughter, but she went home tonight to sleep in her own bed."

"Who could possibly want to kill this poor thing?"

"That's what Mr. Reese is trying to find out as we speak. Do you have your earpiece?"

Sam grimaced. Stuffing a device in her ear that conveyed sound directly to her ear drum was not something she wanted to deal with right now. "I have it."

"We'll have to keep in constant contact with this one. You need to stay here with Callie. Keep an eye on her, see if anyone else visits her and try to get their names. Mr. Reese is checking on the father right now."

"Any other siblings?" Sam asked as she dug in her pocket for her phone and earpiece.

"Not that I've found," Finch said. "A month ago, Callie was living at home as well as was possible when her symptoms worsened and they checked her into the hospital. She's been in this isolation unit for over a week. From what I understand, they plan to release her to a normal hospital room within the next day or so, once they are certain that her white blood cell count is back up."

"No one can get to her in here," Sam said, looking at the chamber with the bio suits. "They would wait until she was in a normal room."

"That's what Mr. Reese thinks as well."

Sam put in her earpiece and connected her phone with John's and Finch's.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" John's voice said in her ear.

"I'm spectacular. How are you?"

Finch shook his head. "I'm headed back to HQ. Sam is with Callie."

"Roger that," Sam saluted as Finch walked away. She looked at Callie through the glass. The little girl hadn't taken her eyes off of her. She waved again, and pointed at something.

Sam looked closer and saw a button next to the bed. Callie pressed it.

"This is so people don't have to come in to talk to me," her voice came through to Sam's side of the glass. It was such a small voice.

The little intercom speaker was built into the wall next to the door. Sam pressed the button. "That's pretty cool," Sam said.

"Who are you?" Callie asked. The top part of her bed raised a little so she could sit up and see better.

"I'm Sam. Um, my… mother is in a room just down the hall. I just wanted to walk around a little."

"Hi Sam, I'm Callie," Callie smiled.

"Hi Callie."

"You have really pretty hair," Callie said. "I used to have hair like your color."

"Thank you," Sam absently pushed her unwashed mess of hair over her shoulder. "Has no one else come to visit you, Callie?"

Callie shook her head, then shrugged her narrow shoulders. "There was a guy earlier. I don't know him. He didn't stay long, though."

"Was he tall, dark hair, a little scary?"

"Thanks, Sam," John said in her ear.

"Yes," Callie nodded.

"Oh, he's nothing to worry about. That's my, uh – my uh, brother, John."

"I can't wait until I can get into a normal room so people stop staring at me like I'm a science project."

"You can always push your button and tell them to go away," Sam suggested. "Tell them to go to the aquarium and stare at some fish if they like staring so much!"

That got a giggle out of Callie. Sam saw her entire body shaking with laughter.

"It may be helpful to ask her about her father," Finch suggested.

"Are your mom and dad here?" Sam asked.

Callie shook her head once. "Mommy needed to sleep. She was here before, and she'll come tomorrow. Daddy works a lot. But, he comes sometimes."

"That is an understatement," John said in her ear. "Leland Horace has not left his office all day long. It's almost eleven at night, and he's still there."

"What an unfortunate name," Finch said.

"Maybe you should get some sleep too, sweetie," Sam suggested.

"I'm tired of being tired."

"I know. But it's really late, past your bedtime anyway, I bet. I'll be right here if you need anything, though, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, Sam," Callie turned onto her side and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost instantly.

"Bye, Callie."

Sam backed away from the glass and took a seat along the corridor. She pulled a book out of her jacket pocket and opened it up to the last place she marked. "You guys have anything else? I'm about to stand in front of the door to that room with a double bladed axe."

"Don't make any dramatic gestures just yet, Miss Watts," Finch said.

"Axes are too messy, anyway," John joked.

The lines went quiet, and Sam started reading her book. She glanced up periodically, checking on Callie, who remained sound asleep. It was closer to midnight and Sam was several pages from where she left off in her book when John spoke again.

"Oh," he said simply.

After a long pause, Finch spoke up. "Would you care to elaborate, Mr. Reese?"

"Finch, you said that Mrs. Horace is at the hospital most of the day?"

"Every day as far as I know. A lot of the staff know her by name."

Sam listened to their conversation as she continued reading.

"Well, I think the reason Leland Horace has lost himself in his work is partially due to that. He never sees his wife. So he's seeing someone else."

Sam snapped the book shut without marking her place, and sat up in her chair, on full alert.

Finch didn't respond right away, apparently also absorbing the shock of this latest development in their case. "Do you know her name?"

"No… but, um – yeah, I know what she looks like. I have a few photographs, but I don't want to spread these around, Finch, if you know what I mean."

"Ew, John," Sam moaned.

"I will gladly trade places with you, Sam," John said. "There are no real boundaries with this guy."

"_Ew!_" Sam physically shook off her disgust.

"I'm just looking into the company's listing of employees. Mr. Horace is in the personnel department – "

"How fitting," Sam said.

"He is a supervisor to a small group of people on his floor. There are two women in that group, one is in her early sixties and close to retirement – "

"_EW!"_ Sam shuddered, and quickly calmed down, looking in the other direction once she saw that she was catching the attention of a couple of the night nurses.

"The other is his administrative assistant, Holly Chin. She's been with the company for eight months, and is twenty-eight years old."

Sam leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, completely fed up with the unfolding situation. The man's daughter is fatally sick, his wife is constantly at her side, while he's busy banging his younger secretary. It was such a cookie cutter type of situation, all wrapped up in a nice package, metaphorically speaking only.

"So, maybe Callie knows about the affair?" John suggested.

"Do you really think her own father would want to kill her because she might tattle on him?" Sam asked slowly, unable to wrap her brain around the idea. "Sure, he's a cheating douche bag, but that's no reason – "

"We have to consider all possibilities, Sam," Finch interrupted.

Sam, still grumpy from her hangover, silently mimicked Finch, shaking her head and contorting her face.

"Check out more on Holly, Finch. She's headed home. It looks like they keep the affair in the office only."

"… ew," Sam said.

* * *

In spite of her late evening nap, Sam, having come close to the end of her book, was working overtime trying to keep herself awake. It was early in the morning, the hospital day shift was beginning to arrive, and the corridor was growing busier.

Sam stood up and walked around, trying to keep herself awake. She looked in on Callie, who was still asleep. Sam stayed at the window, just to make sure the little girl was still breathing comfortably. Everything appeared normal, and she moved away from the room and back to her seat.

A nurse passed by, smiling stiffly at her, and went through the door to Callie's room. She changed into a sterile bio suit and entered the room. Sam was on her feet again as the nurse gently touched Callie on her arm, waking the child.

Callie looked up. She smiled at the nurse and immediately began talking to her as the nurse took out a syringe and drew some blood.

Sam sat back down and propped her head up in her hand, her eyelids hanging halfway over her eyes as she watched the nurse. The hangover was gone. Now, she was just tired.

She watched, her eyes glazing over, as the nurse took multiple samples of blood, and labeled each sample. She put them in a plastic bag and headed out of the room. As the nurse was taking off the suit, a blurry white space blocked part of Sam's vision.

Her eyes refocused on the lidded cup that was held in front of her face. She looked up and saw John standing in front of her, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Mrs. Horace is on her way now," he said as Sam took the cup and he sat down.

The cup warmed her hands and the tea tasted hot and wonderful when she took the first sip. "You've saved my life again," she said, holding up the cup.

"You're welcome."

"Where's the husband?"

"He's at home, asleep, but plans to meet Holly Chin for lunch later today."

"That little rat bastard," Sam muttered as she sipped her life giving tea.

John looked at her, his expression thoroughly amused. "You've been fuming about this all night, haven't you? Are you planning to castrate him?"

Sam snorted into her cup. "Well, now that you've got me thinking about it. I have some decently sharp kitchen knives."

A small wince moved across John's features. "Don't you think that's a little cruel?"

"What's cruel is what he's doing to his family that is _already_ falling apart with his sick little girl. He should be here with his wife, the jackass."

"I agree," John said.

Sam felt the undeniable urge to address what happened the evening before. But she couldn't quite think of the words to kick off the subject. Thankfully, Callie, now awake, sat up in her bed and waved to Sam once she noticed her. Sam waved back and stood up. "Come on, the poor thing is probably bored to tears."

Sam and John approached the glass and she pressed the button. "Good morning, Callie."

"Hi Sam."

"How are you feeling?"

"Good. Do you know what the nurse said?"

"What did she say?"

"That if my blood tests come back and they're good, I can be moved out of here!" Callie seemed thoroughly excited at the prospect.

"That's great! Do you know when they'll find out?"

"She said this afternoon," Callie squirmed a little in her bed. "I can't wait! Then maybe you can come into my room and we can play games!"

Sam laughed. She was already planning to keep Sam around. "I'd like that."

"Your brother can come too, if he wants," Callie said graciously, looking at John.

Sam smiled up at him and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Yeah, uh, thanks, Callie," John said when Sam pressed the button.

Sam looked past John and saw a woman rushing towards them. "I think your Mom's here. We'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay," Callie said, smiling broadly.

Sam and John walked away from the room, down the corridor, giving Callie and her mother a little privacy.

"This afternoon," Sam said.

"Did you get that, Finch?"

"Yes," Finch replied. "Whoever is after her may wait until she is settled in the new room. Then again, they may not."

"That was helpful as always, Finch," John said, rolling his eyes. "It'll probably be best if we stay here," he continued. "Wherever Callie is will be where the killer is."

"Yay!" Sam said, giving a sarcastic cheer. "Hospital food for us!"


	5. Complicated

The morning drifted by as John and Sam sat together within eye sight of Callie Horace's isolation room in the oncology wing of the hospital. Callie's mother, Rose Horace, had pulled up a chair in front of the glass wall of the isolation room, right next to the intercom speaker so she could sit and talk with her daughter. It was the closest she could get until they moved her.

No word came from the lab about the blood tests until late that afternoon. Sam was resting on John's arm, their hands clasped together, as they waited for word. John leaned his head back against the wall and he stared at the ceiling as Sam fought her fatigue.

The doctors and nurses came and went until finally: "Sam! Sam, come here!"

Sam jerked up, the creases from John's jacket sleeve imprinted on her cheek. She and John stood and walked across to the isolation room where Mrs. Horace stood with her hands pressed against the glass.

"Mrs. Horace?" Sam said as she approached.

"You're Sam?" Mrs. Horace said.

"Yes, and this is my brother, John. Callie and I have sort of become long distance friends."

"Yes, she told me. Thank you."

"Mom! Tell her, tell her what they said!" Callie's excited voice was full of energy.

Rose Horace smiled at Sam and John. "Callie's going to be moved to a regular room tonight."

"That's the window," Finch said in their ears, as if they needed to be reminded.

"Will you come see me, Sam?" Callie asked.

Mrs. Horace pressed the button on their side of the intercom. "Of course, I will. That's awesome, Callie!" Sam spoke up.

"I know!"

"I need to tell Leland, my husband, the good news. He said he'd come by tonight," Mrs. Horace pulled out her phone and Sam waved at Callie as she and John stepped away.

She looked up at John, who rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Do you really think she's the killer?" she asked.

John sighed and leaned back against the glass wall. "No, I don't."

"We can't be sure of that," Finch bleated at them.

"I think we can, Finch," John said. "This woman is dedicated. She's exhausted and terrified, but she'd rather have Callie around for as long as possible."

"I agree," Sam said.

"Well, seeing as how I'm out voted," Finch said with irritation. "Our focus should be on the husband, then. He's speaking with his wife right now and seems happy about the news."

Sam ground her teeth at the mere mention of Leland Horace. Even if he wasn't the killer, he was still just as guilty in her book. Cheating on the wife of your child who is terminally ill must automatically reserve you a spot in one of the lowest levels of hell. At least it did in Sam's mind.

"What do we do, now?"

"Well," John scratched his head, mussing his hair in the process. "We know where Callie is. We know she's being moved. Whoever is coming after her will come here. So… we wait."

"Oh goodie," Sam said as she stretched her arms and her back. She started down the corridor.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Just for a little walk and maybe something to eat. Do you want anything?"

* * *

Waiting was definitely the worst part of the job.

Sam remembered the day when the machine pulled John's own number and Finch asked her to help keep an eye on him. The constant questioning, the uneasy feeling of not knowing who you need to protect or go after was not her favorite thing in the world, especially when it was someone she cared about.

At least, Sam thought as she walked, taking a bite out of the dry sandwich she bought from the hospital cafeteria, this time they were pretty sure of the victim and her location. All they needed was the other half of the equation. Unfortunately though, that always was the most dangerous part.

Leland Horace was in his early forties, successful, married his wife Rose fifteen years before. The affair he was having with Holly Chin started just after Callie was checked back into the hospital about a month ago. Chin, besides having the credentials of a home wrecker on her resume, was twenty-eight and a community college drop out. She was young, working as an admin and obviously wanted to be put on the fast track to move up in the company.

Sam ground her teeth again as she began thinking of what she'd like to do to them both when someone called her by name.

"Sam?"

She turned around in mid chew on her sandwich, and nearly choked on the entire mouthful. "Kevin," she said roughly.

Speaking of John's number coming up, Kevin Shores was one of the people who helped Sam rescue John once everything hit the fan. They were supposed to have been on a date, and had only met once before at a speed dating activity. Their date was the last time Sam saw Kevin. And she figured it was just as well. Her life had become quite complicated after that.

Kevin smiled broadly when she turned around, though Sam couldn't figure out why. She hadn't showered in almost two days, she barely had any makeup on, and her hair was greasy and matted.

Kevin wore scrubs and a hospital ID badge, which Sam squinted at as he approached.

"I didn't know you were a doctor," she said.

"I'm a resident, yeah. And you never asked," he said. "That's why I do the speed dating thing. I don't have a lot of time to myself with this job."

He kept smiling, which was really starting to unnerve her. But a doctor? Why didn't he say so before? She could have done with that very well.

"I tried calling you after that fiasco of a date, but the number was disconnected. What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm – "

"Wait, wait, let me guess. Are you on some sort of crazy vigilante mission?" He waggled his eyebrows as he joked. But Sam looked back at him, stone serious, and the expression faded quickly. "No. Seriously? Sam, I can't let you fire a gun in the hospital," he pleaded.

"I'm not _planning_ to," Sam said innocently.

"Is your friend here too? That guy who nearly drowned?"

"Nice to know that he remembers me," John said in Sam's ear. "And you have a silencer anyway."

Sam nearly shouted a curse. She forgot that she John and Finch were still linked up through their phones. John and Finch could hear everything Kevin was saying.

"Yes, John's here too," Sam took a hold of Kevin by his arms. "Just listen to me, okay? We're here because there is a threat against one of the patients."

"How can you know that?"

"That doesn't matter. But we're here to prevent anything from happening to her. I'd really appreciate it if you – just, you know – if you pretended that you never saw me."

Kevin sized her up, folding his arms across his chest. "Who's the patient?"

Sam blinked and shook her head. "Okay, see, that's the opposite of what I'm asking you to do. You want to know more about what I'm doing but I want you to act like I'm not even here. Do you see the problem with this?"

The smile was back and Sam had to admit that it was a very handsome one. "You know what's more frustrating than that?" he lowered his voice and bent down a little toward her. "I rarely go a day without thinking about you."

Sam was completely blindsided. She stood like a deer in headlights, staring at Kevin. How could he possibly say something like that? He barely knew her. And on the one date they had together, he could have been shot! She didn't leave the best first impression with him, but that didn't seem to register at all.

The heat traveled up from her neck, over her face and into her hairline. She looked away from him, wishing that she could control the deep blush.

"Get out of there, Sam," John said steadily.

"Um, that's very sweet, Kevin. But, I can't – "

"Can't what?"

"I just can't. It's horrendously complicated, and I'm sorry."

"Leland Horace just hung up with his wife and is making another call," Finch said in her ear. Sam stopped and listened.

"Come on, Sam. I don't think you gave me a fair – "

"Sh!" Sam waved her hand at Kevin to shut him up.

"It's to Holly Chin," Finch continued.

Holly answered and greeted Mr. Horace in a blatantly flirtatious way.

_"Are we still on for tonight?"_ she asked.

_"I don't think I can make it, angel. Callie's being moved to another room."_

Holly didn't respond right away.

_"Are you there, babe?"_

_ "I'm here,"_ she answered. _"So, she's getting better? That's good, right?"_

_ "As better as she can get, I guess," _Horace gave away some of his sadness in his tone of voice, convincing Sam, at least a little bit, of his love for his daughter.

Sam backed against the wall of the corridor, Kevin stupidly following. "What's going on?" he whispered.

Sam shook her head and tapped her ear.

_"Does it really have to be a year, honey? Can't you just get it over with? Then we wouldn't have to sneak around anymore."_ Holly said.

"That bitch," Sam muttered. "She really thinks he'll leave his wife for her? That hardly ever happens."

_"I wish it could be different," _Leland said with a heavy sigh. _"I can't leave Rose when Callie is sick. I think it will be easier when it's all over. We'll make a clean break of it."_

Sam covered her eyes as she attempted containing the explosion of anger she felt towards those two people. Horace was waiting for Callie to die before he broke the news to his wife that he was going to leave her.

"It may be a break, but it definitely won't be clean," Finch muttered.

_"If that's what you want," _Holly said. Sam could hear the manipulative pout in her voice.

_"I know it's hard, but it'll go by fast. Don't you worry,"_ Horace said consolingly.

_"I'm just worried about you, Leland. This puts such a strain on you, and I hate it when you're tense."_

"What in the _hell_? " Sam blurted.

_"Don't worry, babe," _he repeated. _"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"_

_"Okay."_

Sam started back down the corridor, unaware that Kevin was following her.

"Holly Chin only has a few parking tickets, but that's par for the course in this town," Finch said as though he could read their minds.

"She wouldn't have the guts to do it," Sam said. "She doesn't even have the guts to tell Rose that she's sleeping with her husband. And a woman who thinks that the man she's having an affair with will leave his wife for her is smoking something. She's stupid."

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Because I read and watch television!"

"We'll find out soon enough," Finch said.

John and Finch went quiet as Sam kept walking quickly through the corridors until she reached the oncology wing. Only then did she realize she was being followed.

"Oh, you're ready to talk to me now rather than the people in your head?" Kevin asked as she turned around.

"You're a resident. Aren't residents dead tired all the time because they're so busy that they barely have time for sex in the supply closet?" Sam snapped.

Kevin considered the question seriously for a moment. "Yes, and yes, and I always make time for sex in the supply closet. You definitely watch TV, as you said. Those hospital dramas are always just dead on."

"Let me put it another way: stop following me, Kevin."

"That's 'stop following me, Doctor Kevin' to you," he smiled again. "But you're right, I'm dead on my feet and there is still so much to be done. So, I can't waste any more of my time talking to you." He bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Page me if you need me. It was good to see you, Sam."

* * *

John took his turn for a short walk to stretch his legs. Sam sat alone across the corridor from Callie's room, going over and over what Kevin said in her mind. There was a man, a doctor no less, who was truly, genuinely interested in her. So, why was she constantly backing away like a skittish little animal? Because that's what had to be done when you worked a job like Sam's. That's why John and Finch were alone. That's why she'd have to be alone as well. What a crappy circumstance!

The afternoon was turning into evening and Callie still was in the isolation room. Her mother sat next to the glass wall, her head resting against it as she dozed with a magazine in her lap.

Doctor's and nurses passed by, and it wasn't until a young male doctor accompanied by a nurse walked by for the third time that Sam was taken away from her thoughts. The doctor glanced at Callie's room then continued walking, his white coat swaying gently as he stepped.

Sam stretched and got to her feet. The doctor and nurse continued down the hallway and went around a corner. Stay cool, Sam, it's probably nothing, she said to herself. She grabbed her purse and faced the wall as she attached the silencer to her gun and stuffed it in the back of her jeans, under her fleece jacket.

She turned around and watched the room.

"John, where are you?"

"I'm on my way back up. Anything wrong?"

"Not yet."

"What is it, Sam?" Finch asked.

"Nothing, like I said."

She began pacing the width of the corridor until she saw the same nurse and doctor heading back in her direction. There was something strange about them. They stared ahead, not talking to each other or anyone else. They were weird. And this time, the nurse was pushing a wheel chair in front of her.

Sam moved over to where Mrs. Horace slept in her chair, next to the door of Callie's room. It was a secure room. No one could get in or out without a hospital ID badge. Regardless, however, Sam stayed close.

The doctor and nurse approached the room and the nurse positioned the wheel chair in front of Callie's door.

"What's going on?" Sam asked her.

"We're moving Callie Horace to the next floor," the nurse explained, looking Sam in the eye the entire time.

"That wasn't supposed to happen until tonight," Finch blurted through Sam's earpiece.

"I thought they weren't doing that until tonight," Sam said.

"We were able to get the room ready a little earlier than expected," the strange doctor explained.

As he spoke, Mrs. Horace awoke and stood up when she saw the three other people surrounding her.

"What's going on?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you Mrs. Horace, but we're ready to move your daughter now," the nurse said kindly with an icy smile.

There was something wrong with the situation, Sam could smell it.

"Oh, already?" Mrs. Horace seemed confused but happy all the same. "Well, that's great."

Sam glanced through the glass at Callie, who was sleeping. She put her hand behind her, getting a grip on her gun.

"Hey, Sam!"

She turned and wanted to shoot Kevin right there as he ran up to her. "I've got a little break, I was wondering if you wanted to get some dinner."

"Um, just a second, Kevin."

Sam turned back to the doctor and nurse and released her weapon as they entered the isolation room. They didn't bother putting on the bio suits as Callie was no longer in immediate danger, and wheeled the chair into the room.

"Mrs. Horace, do you recognize them?"

"No, I haven't seen them before."

Kevin shook his head as he looked into the isolation room. "That's Nurse Pummace, but I don't recognize him," he said indicating the doctor.

"And why would a doctor be helping a nurse move a patient? They don't usually do that, do they Kevin?"

"Sam, don't do anything rash. I'm on the floor, heading to Callie's room now," John said.

They watched for another few seconds as the nurse parked the wheelchair next to the bed. She approached the glass wall and closed the blinds over it as the doctor moved to one of the machines Callie was hooked up to.

"What's going on? What are they doing?" Mrs. Horace asked.

"They're killing her. Kevin, I need you to get me into that room right now," Sam saw red as she pulled out her weapon and pushed through to the small changing room.

"What do you mean? What is she talking about?" Mrs. Horace asked frantically.

"No, Sam, no shooting!" Kevin said as he followed her in, Mrs. Horace coming after him.

"They are _murdering_ this little girl! No one will hear the shots. Just open the damned door!" Sam shouted.


	6. Scattered

Kevin swiped his badge, and the door to Callie's room unlocked. As they entered, the 'doctor' pulled a weapon of his own and swung around. Before he could set his shot, Sam, already set, fired one shot. The 'doctor' collapsed as Kevin ran in and checked the equipment hooked up to Callie.

"Sam, are you all right?" John rushed into the room behind Mrs. Horace as Sam pounced upon the nurse, who had backed against the wall with her hands up.

"Who hired you?" Sam asked, pointing the weapon between the nurse's eyes. "How much were you paid for this?"

"More than I make in a year," the nurse choked. "The girl is dead anyway."

"It's nice to know how much you care," Sam spat. "Who hired you?"

She didn't give an answer.

Enraged, Sam balled up her fist and let it fly, cracking the nurse in the jaw. She let out a sharp yell and slid to the floor. Sam followed her down, squatting in front of her.

"Sam," John warned.

Sam cocked the weapon and pressed the end of the silencer against the nurse's forehead. "Who hired you?" she asked quietly.

Nurse Pummace looked terrified, her eyes crossed, looking up at the gun. "I don't know!" the nurse shouted. "I was never given a name." She panted, her face covered in sweat. "Just a money transfer."

"I'm on it," Finch said.

Sam released the nurse and stood.

"Nurse Pummace did receive a sizable amount of money in three separate transfers throughout the week. I'm tracing the account number now. It looks like the transfer was routed through several accounts and banks in an attempt to cover tracks."

"What's the originating account?" John asked.

A long pause followed and Finch sighed. "Lealand Horace. One of his business accounts."

"Horace," Sam said angrily.

"Leland?" Mrs. Horace squeaked, her hands over her mouth. "But I don't understand. He'd never hurt Callie."

"He wouldn't, but he would let someone else do the job," John said.

Sam looked up and blinked as she saw John as though she hadn't realized he'd been there.

"I've stopped the bleeding, but he still needs to be treated," Kevin said as he stood up, his hands bloody and his forehead moist with sweat. He moved over to Nurse Pummace who had a bloody nose and was crying.

Sam glanced at Callie, who still slept soundly. She'd slept completely through the attempt on her life. Mrs. Horace, fighting back tears and confusion, moved over to her daughter and took her hand as she kissed her on the forehead.

"They'll be fine, lucky for you," Kevin said, looking up at Sam.

Sam put her gun away and closed her eyes to collect herself. She'd just tortured another human being for information. She'd been so angry that what she was doing never occurred to her until after the fact. Yes, it was a short interrogation, but it was still a form of torture nonetheless.

"We need to move Callie," Sam said.

"I could use some help to get him into the ER. Then we can move her," Kevin stood in front of her and lifted his eyebrows.

Sam and John nodded.

* * *

Kevin found some scrubs for Sam, and they moved the 'doctor' to the ER, looping around from the outside, making it look as if he'd just come in from one transport or another. Sam slipped his gun into a garbage can on the way out.

Nurse Pummace went home soon after Kevin attended to her bloody nose. It was basically a guarantee that she wouldn't talk or, in other words, tell on the person who fired a weapon in the hospital. Sam had scared her pretty badly. Even when the police came with questions, and they definitely would, she would only explain about the money she received and the attempt on Callie Horace.

Sam sat in the hospital cafeteria, still wearing maroon colored scrubs, and watched Kevin eat what looked like a bowl full of medical waste. She wrinkled her nose as he scarfed each spoonful down with gusto.

"How are you doing that?"

Kevin glanced up at her. "What? Eating? Well, the beginning of the digestive process begins with the mouth actually. Once the bio-matter enters the mouth, it is then masticated by the – "

"I _meant_ how can you eat that stuff?"

Kevin looked at the contents of his bowl, then at Sam again. "What? It's Manhattan clam chowder. It's not bad. When you spend as much time here as I have, you get used to the food."

"What does real food taste like, then?"

"A little bit of heaven," Kevin smiled and went back to his soup.

They had already moved Callie to her new, non-isolated room where they left her with her mother who was much more upset than she was letting on.

Poor Mrs. Horace had called her husband twice after the attempt on Callie's life, and both times he had denied knowing anything about a plot to kill their daughter. In fact, according to Finch, he sounded quite shocked with the whole idea. He was still planning to come visit that night. That's partially why Sam was still in the hospital, but nowhere near Callie's room.

John had left to confront Leland Horace about the attempt on Callie. It shouldn't be hard to get the man to fold. John was prepared to wave Mr. Horace's own bank records that included the money transfers to Nurse Pummace and the disguised doctor.

Sam was just waiting for the phone call telling her that all of the bases were covered, and then she could go home and maybe have a shower. That's why, when her phone did ring, she was slightly surprised that it was John instead of Finch.

"Are you still at the hospital?" John asked without greeting her when she answered.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"I'm almost there. You need to get back to Callie's room. Horace denied knowing about the money transfers and the attempt to kill Callie."

"Even after you hit him a couple of times?" Sam asked and looked away as Kevin looked at her, his attention piqued.

"Very funny. I believed him, so Finch did a little more digging. Holly Chin, as his administrative assistant, has access to his accounts."

"She sent them," Sam said flatly as she absorbed the new theory.

"It looks like she did. She's on her way to the hospital now. I'll probably beat her there, but you need to get to Callie and stay with her and her mother."

"Do you think she'll finish it on her own?"

"You tell me, Sam," John said. "You're the one who said she was cowardly and stupid."

* * *

Sam ran all the way up to the fourth floor and burst into Callie's room. The little girl was wide awake and talking to her mother.

"Sam! I thought you left."

Sam caught her breath and managed a smile as Kevin stumbled in after her. "Um, no, no, I've decided to stay for a little longer. Mrs. Horace?"

"Rose," Mrs. Horace insisted.

"Um, Rose. May I speak to you outside for a minute?"

"Of course," Mrs. Horace squeezed her daughter's hand and left the room with Sam, who shut the door.

"I don't think this is over, yet."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Horace put her hands to her face, her eyes were scared, peering over her fingertips at Sam.

"Your husband didn't pay those people to kill Callie."

"Who did then? Why would they want her dead in the first place? It's not like something isn't already killing her!" Mrs. Horace's voice grew in anger and volume.

Sam hesitated and spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "Have you ever met your husband's assistant, Holly Chin?"

Rose looked away from Sam as she thought. "I think so, yes, at the company barbecue this summer."

Sam glanced at Kevin who, to her surprise, took her hand and gave it a supportive squeeze. "Well, um, this is going to be really hard to hear right now, but we – I believe that it was Holly Chin who paid and sent those people for Callie. She has access to your husband's accounts, so his name would be on everything."

Rose shook her head. "But, I – I don't understand this. She's only met Callie the one time. Why would she want to hurt my little girl?"

"Rose," Sam put her hand on Mrs. Horace's shoulder and looked her in the eyes. "I have my reasons for believing that Holly most definitely would want to hurt Callie."

"Then tell me!"

Sam glanced at Kevin who shook his head once. "It's not my place to tell you. But don't worry. I promise I won't let anything happen to her."

"So do I."

Sam looked around in time to see John approach the door to Callie's room. Sam breathed a sigh of relief now that she knew he was close. He stood next to her, his eyes on Rose.

"Just stay with her, Rose, and you both will be all right, I swear," Sam said as John's phone rang.

Sam waited as he answered it. He spoke a few words into it and hung up the call. "Holly Chin is in the hospital," he said.

* * *

"Well what's she going to do? Just waltz in here and shoot the kid?" Sam asked wildly.

"Every option, Sam…" John said.

Sam sighed and flung her hands up in the air. "Which entrance?"

"West," John said. "Finch is tracking her," he paused, looking Sam up and down for a moment as he appeared to come to a decision. "Do you want to run interference?"

Sam smiled at him. "I'd love to." She looked to Kevin who looked as though he wanted a little assignment of his own. "Are you busy?"

"Right this second? No."

"Stay with Callie and her mom."

Sam turned to move down the corridor, but Kevin stopped her, holding onto her arm. "Sam, are you sure about this? You're going after someone you think is trying to murder a child."

"Aw, thanks for your concern, Kevin," Sam grinned. "But, I think I can handle one secretary."

Kevin let her go, and she started down the corridor, dodging carts, and oncoming traffic as she went.

Things were starting to slow down as the evening wore on. Sam entered an elevator and hooked her phone back up to the earpiece. Finch was back where he belonged, in her head.

"She hasn't moved from the west lobby."

"I'm almost there," Sam muttered as the elevator doors opened and she stepped onto the first floor of the building.

She walked quickly, her scrubs making a soft swishing noise as she moved down the corridor, past the ultrasound and MRI labs and into the west lobby. Sam stopped and looked around, searching each face of every person moving in and out of the area.

"Are you sure she's still here?" she muttered as she moved along the perimeter of the lobby.

"She hasn't moved from the lobby," Finch said.

Sam kept looking, going over the people sitting in the seats placed along the walls, and the chairs next to the security kiosk. She continued her search until she moved past an empty chair, then stepped back again as something caught her eye. A phone without an owner lay on the cushion of the chair.

Sam picked it up and spoke into the microphone. "Her phone hasn't moved from the lobby, Finch. She's here, in the hospital. We just don't know where now."

* * *

"John, where are you?" Sam asked for the second time that day as she walked out of the lobby.

"I'm outside Callie's room. Dr. Shores is getting her a wheelchair. She's probably already found out her room number. We have to move them now."

"Okay. I'm coming back up," Sam said. "Maybe I can still head her off somewhere."

Sam moved back towards the elevators when the sight of someone familiar slowed her down. Leland Horace, waiting for an elevator, was stepping into one that had just opened up.

"Hold the elevator!" Sam shouted as she ran in, and saw Leland Horace in person for the first time. He was alone.

Sam smiled at him. He returned it gratefully, unbuttoning his overcoat.

"In all this mess, I didn't think I'd get the chance to meet you," Sam said.

"I'm sorry? Do I know you?"

"I know you, Leland," Sam kept her smile in attempt to make him as uneasy as possible. "I think you have some explaining to do." She drew her weapon and pointed it casually at him.

"Look, I don't know who you think I am, but – "

Sam approached him, jabbing the pistol into his chest. "I know _exactly_ who you are, you asshole!" she hissed.

"Take it easy, Sam," Finch said steadily. "Remember what we're doing this for."

"Your mistress is somewhere in this hospital, and I think you might have an idea why." She took his arm and buried the gun into his side as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

* * *

She knocked first before slowly opening the door, which he thought was very considerate.

John watched the door to the hospital room open and Holly Chin stepped in, looking uncertain, almost frightened. That had not been what he was expecting.

He sat alone, on the edge of the empty hospital bed, his hands folded in his lap. "Hello, Holly," he said.

Holly took a step back and nearly ran into the door when she saw him. "I – I must have made a mistake. I thought this was Callie Horace's room."

John stood and stepped toward her, his movements fluid and smooth, without hesitation. "This is her room. I just thought it best that she was out of our way for this."

"For what?" Holly's uncertainty flared into borderline terror as John looked down at her.

"Let's pretend that I know everything about you already," John said quietly. "I know about the affair with your boss, about his promise to leave his wife for you as soon as his daughter dies of cancer. And that leads me to the reason you're here tonight."

Holly's dark brown eyes widened as she absorbed his meaning. "I would _never_ hurt Callie! She's already dying. I came here because I've decided to tell Mrs. Horace the truth, about everything, as if it's any of your business!"

"Everything?"

"I have access to Leland's accounts, and just before I left work today, I checked the accounts to make sure all of the transactions I'd processed today had gone through. That's when I noticed a couple of strange transfers to private accounts. They were two _huge_ chunks of money transferred not to businesses, or corporate accounts, but individual accounts." Holly's hands shook violently as she spoke. Her voice trembled, but she continued. "There's nothing in my records that link any of Leland's business to those accounts.

"And then I remembered him applying for a gun license a few months ago. He said it was for protection, and I didn't question it then. But with that money, I'm scared that he's gotten himself into something that he won't be able to handle."

"Loan sharks?" John asked.

"I don't know," Holly said desperately. "All of this secret keeping; all of these lies – I can't let him do this to himself anymore."

"He's doing it to you too, you know. Stringing you along, keeping you on the hook just to keep him satisfied."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Holly snapped.

"You think telling his wife about you and her husband will make it better?"

"It will be painful for them at first, but – I – I love him. I _have_ to do something! I just need to talk to him, or Mrs. Horace. That's all. That's the only reason I'm here."

John surveyed her and put his finger to his ear, stepping away from Holly, who he could tell was about to burst. "Finch, we were after the wrong liar. Horace is probably armed."

"He's here. Sam's already found him, John," Finch said.


	7. For Keeps

"They're heading toward the service elevators on the east side of the building," Finch instructed.

Sam, holding tightly onto Mr. Horace, her gun jabbing into his side, moved to the stairwell. "Move it," she demanded, and they walked quickly down two flights of stairs.

"Who are you? What is going on?"

Sam pushed the weapon harder into his side as they walked. "You'll see, Leland," she said.

Now, on the second floor, Sam pressed the up button to the service elevator and waited next to Leland.

"Will you please just tell me what's going on?" he whined. "Is it money? I can pay you – "

"I don't want your money," Sam said darkly. "It's not about what I want."

"Sam – "

"It's about what you're doing to your family, you selfish bastard," Sam ignored Finch and continued on her quiet rant. "Your wife stays here all hours with your daughter who is _dying_ while you gallivant around, satisfying your cravings, without a thought about them."

The elevator doors opened, revealing Kevin standing behind Callie in her wheel chair, and Rose Horace, her eyes red and puffy.

"Now you can explain yourself right now, or I'll shoot you," Sam said as they stepped inside.

"Sam, you have to listen to me!" Finch said urgently. "Mr. Reese is with Holly Chin. She's not the perpetrator. It's Mr. Horace."

The elevator doors closed, and Horace, sensing Sam's small lapse in attention on him, took the advantage. He pushed her away, drawing his own weapon, and pointed it at Sam's head. Rose screamed and Kevin shouted shocked gibberish.

"Drop it now," he said. Horace pressed the button to the fourth floor, then hit the emergency stop button.

Kicking and cursing at herself, Sam glanced at Kevin who nodded and dropped her gun onto the floor as the elevator jerked to a stop and the alarm sounded.

* * *

"They're stopped in between the third and fourth floors," Finch said in John's ear.

John dragged Holly Chin down the hall with him. She wasn't as tall as Sam, and was having a harder time keeping up with him at his full stride, so he pulled her along. At times her feet didn't even touch the floor as they went.

"Can you override it, Finch?" John asked as he turned down another corridor, headed toward the service elevators.

"It's not that sophisticated, unfortunately," Finch replied. "The elevator system in the hospital hasn't been updated in decades. There's no way for me to access it from here. She needs to get it to move again."

John clenched his jaw as he thought of Sam trapped in that elevator with their number _and_ the killer. He took a deep breath to calm himself as they reached the elevator.

"Well, they can't stay in there forever, Horace knows that," John said.

* * *

Sam purposefully kept close to Horace as he pointed his weapon at everyone in turn.

"Leland? Why are you doing this? Please, someone tell me what's happening!" Exhausted, Rose Horace was in tears as she pleaded with her husband and held onto Callie's hand. Callie, who seemed too stunned to speak at all, gripped her mother's hand, and stared at her father with wide eyes.

"Yeah, Leland," Sam said. "What's the plan now? Emergency personnel are going to be heading to this elevator soon to see what's going on. There's no way out of here."

Horace smiled creepily, but first looked to his wife. "Rose, honey, I have a confession to make. I've been involved with another woman. I'm sorry."

The tears stopped, and Rose seemed to go unnaturally still. She stared at her husband, with red-rimmed eyes and blinked once. "I've been waiting for you to say so," she said.

Horace raised his eyebrows. "You knew?"

"I'm your _wife_, you bastard," she said quietly. "Of course I knew! But I would rather our daughter believe we were happy through the last year of her life than see her family ripped apart. Stop this now, Leland, whatever this is. Whatever you and Holly were planning together, just go. If that's what you want, go with her and leave us. No more lies. Just go. I'm too tired to care."

Sam's heart broke for Rose and Callie as Rose knelt down next to her daughter and buried her face in her shoulder.

Horace, knocked a little off course by his wife's knowledge of his affair, rallied and righted himself. He laughed. He actually laughed. Sam wanted to sock him. "Run away with Holly? Oh sweetheart. You never did understand me."

"I don't think anyone does," Kevin said before he realized it.

"Holly was necessary, dear. Stupid, but necessary," Horace continued. "Now, we don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to explain this only once. We are going back up to Callie's room, quietly and calmly. Now that you all are here, and aware of the situation, I've had to make a slight change of plan. But it's nothing I can't handle, of course."

Sam understood before he said it. "You're going to kill all of us. Not just Callie."

"Smart girl," Horace smiled again. "I admit, Callie took some consideration. She is my daughter after all, sucking the life out of my insurance coverage and my wife. Sending those two for her was a mistake, I admit. But you," he looked delightfully at Sam, "have created a much more preferable situation.

"There are so many of those senseless mass shootings in this country. It's so tragic, so sad. That's what people will be saying when a young, lovely, but very disturbed woman burst into a hospital room and opened fire on the patient, her mother, and the doctor in the room." Horace looked at each of them in turn as he spoke of them. "And then," he bent down and picked up Sam's weapon, "turned her own gun on herself." He pocketed his gun and held Sam's weapon up.

"Why are you doing this?" Rose shouted. "What's in this for you? Killing your own daughter!"

"Callie is very well protected, Rose. I've told you before."

Rose seemed to understand, and put her hands to her mouth. "But that's only about twenty thousand dollars, for funeral expenses."

Horace grinned as he pressed the emergency stop button and the elevator lurched as it began moving again. "That wouldn't make much sense, would it? Killing my own daughter for twenty grand. But for two million and some change – "

The elevator dinged and Horace went quiet as he looked at them all and nodded. He lowered his gun, and Sam stepped closer to him as the doors opened.

Horace looked over his shoulder. Sam and John hit him from both sides. Sam grabbed a hold of his gun hand, and pushed it up over her head as she elbowed him in the stomach. John kicked Horace hard at the inside of his knee, and gave him one hit to the head before Horace collapsed.

Sam had her gun back in her hand and pointed it at Horace as Holly cried and crouched down next to her soon to be ex boss.

John took Sam by her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.

Sam lowered her weapon and smiled out of relief. "Always," she said.

* * *

Leland Horace was arrested for conspiracy to murder, attempted murder in the second and first degrees, and also, as Finch managed to find out, for insurance fraud. Callie Horace's life insurance policy, normally kept for funeral expenses and the like as her mother had explained, was topped off at two million, thirty thousand dollars. Horace, fooling the insurance company into thinking Callie was a healthy adult instead of a sick ten-year old, managed to get her one of the heaviest life insurance policies his company had to offer.

Holly Chin, with her access to Horace's accounts, needed to be silenced. And what better way than to manipulate her into falling in love with him? Loyalty, although not terribly efficient, is the best silencer. However, after seeing Horace with his family, the way he treated them, and would have them killed without blinking, Holly Chin managed to get over him rather quickly. She moved out of the city soon after his arrest.

Back at home a day or so later, Sam was out of the shower and getting dressed when she heard a knock on her apartment door. Pulling on a tank top and jeans, she let her damp hair flop over her shoulders as she went to answer the door.

"Huh," she said, leaning against the open door, putting a hand on her hip. "No breaking and entering this time?"

John smiled sheepishly as she let him in. "Not when you're already home, no."

"I should put in one of those laser alarm systems, make it more of a challenge for you," she said as she moved to the bathroom.

"That might be fun," John conceded.

Sam came back out, with her bangs pinned back and a pair of socks in her hands.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Why, is there another number?"

"No, I thought we could get more practice time in."

"Sorry, I can't," Sam approached him. She held one sock in her teeth, and hopped on one foot as she put the other one on. The same process went for the second sock. "I'm going to the hospital to visit Callie, and – " she hesitated, looking at John, who raised his eyebrows in innocent curiosity.

"And?"

"And, I'm having dinner with Kevin. He's working late and asked me to come."

"Sam."

The scolding tone in his voice was evident and Sam rolled her eyes as she began a search for her shoes. "It's just dinner, John. I'm not marrying him."

"It's dangerous."

"Yes, it is," Sam agreed. "But, Kevin is already aware of the dangers of associating with me, and he went and asked me anyway! So, either he has a death wish, or he likes me in spite of the risks." Sam found her shoes. She slipped them on and tied them.

"He doesn't know the dangers, Sam."

"What, John? You think I should tell him about the machine and let him weigh his options?"

"That's not – "

"Listen," Sam approached him again and poked him in the chest to emphasize her point. "You know I've always got your back, John. But, I'm going to go eat horrible hospital food with Kevin tonight. I'll sometimes have lunch with Alina. I'm still going to live a little bit. I'm sorry. I can't help it. I know you and Harold have given up on that, but I can't."

John's face hardened and he stepped away from her. Sam hadn't seen that look directed at her in a long time. She knew she'd crossed a line. "I'm sorry, John," she said sincerely. "I'm sorry I said that."

She approached him again, put her hand to his face, and got up on her tip toes, kissing him on the cheek. "I know that you don't believe you deserve a life anymore. That happiness is something for other people. You keep punishing yourself for things that you think no one would forgive you for doing."

John didn't answer and Sam took that as confirmation. She took his hand and was on her toes again as she lightly kissed his lips. "I forgive you, John. For whatever it is you've done, for what you've done to yourself, I forgive you. But, that won't matter much until you forgive yourself."

Sam released his hand and turned her back on him. She went to her dresser and took out a light duster sweater that she pulled on over the tank top. She risked a look at him. He hadn't moved at all. Maybe he was actually listening to her that time.

She grabbed her purse and her keys and was in front of him again, looking up at that unreadable face. "I have to go. I won't be long. I'll call you when I get back?"

John nodded. "Sure, yeah," he said.

Sam left him there and went to the door. She opened it and heard her name.

"Sam."

She turned, holding onto the doorknob. John looked at her, putting his hands in his pockets. He was different. Something had changed from when he entered her apartment a few minutes before to that moment. But, she couldn't see exactly what it was.

"Yeah?"

"You said to me that I could keep you if I wanted," he spoke quietly. "Do you remember?"

"I was drunk, John," Sam smiled and shook her head.

"I know."

"What are you saying? You don't want me to go?" Sam asked, feeling a thrill in her chest and over her skin at the prospect of John actually admitting something, _anything_ to her.

John pressed his lips together as if he was forcing the answer back into his throat.

Sam sighed with some disappointment. "I'll see you later, John."

She pulled the door open until she couldn't anymore. Something was stopping it. Sam looked up and saw John's hand pushing the door back. He stood close, in front of her, and looked down at her.

Sam pulled at the doorknob and he pushed back. Frustrated, she waved her hands in the air at him. "Look, if you're going to say something, say it! If you don't want me to go – "

"You're right," he said. "There is no forgiveness for me. No… redemption."

"That's not true! I – "

John put his hand over Sam's mouth, muffling the rest of her statement. "What's strange is that I believe you, Sam."

He pulled his hand away and Sam blinked at him, stunned. "You do?"

"I could tell you everything I've done, and you'd still be here."

"I've always got your back," she repeated firmly.

John smiled a little. "I know you do."

Sam pulled at the door again, but it didn't move. "So…?" she asked, prompting him to go on. "I have to go, John."

"Will you let me keep you?" he asked softly.

Sam's breath caught in her chest as her arm dropped to her side, and John closed the door.

* * *

Sorry this one's taken longer than usual to post. I've also been working on an original project. That also means that I'll probably be taking a break from writing Sam and Team Machine for a while. I don't think I can ever really end it, but perhaps a brief hiatus here and there. :)

Thanks so much for reading and to those of you who took some time to tell me your thoughts.

As always, you guys are awesome!


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